


Reborn

by hopefulfeathers



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-10-14 05:32:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17502542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefulfeathers/pseuds/hopefulfeathers
Summary: After being publicly shamed by her husband/producer, pop singing sensation Regina Mills broke away from the spotlight to begin a new life with her son, and care for her ailing father, in the remote town of Storybrooke. Still haunted by events of the past, she finds herself falling for her son's schoolteacher, who offers the hope she needs to rediscover herself and her passion in music





	1. Chapter 1

_All around her, they call her name. Opening the door of her car, she steps into the fray: the incessant click-click-click of paparazzi cameras, the rapid flashes that blind her eyes. She has to push her way through the hoard of people that closes in, drawing closer and closer like a pack of hungry wolves. Protected only by four burley men dressed in suits and wearing sunglasses, she keeps her head down and continues walking. Just a few steps ahead, she will make it through the sliding glass doors of the airport entrance._

_"Regina, look this way!" They yell, "Regina! How does it feel to...?"_

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_She's just trying to get home._

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_But the shouting doesn't stop. It only grows louder and louder as Regina steps through the doors and is suddenly blinded by a strobe light. Blinking her eyes, she finds herself no longer in the airport, but on stage in front of millions of cheering fans. Taking a deep breath, the singer parts her rouged lips. She looks out amongst what she can see of the crowd. Teens and adults alike jump up and down like kernels of popcorn and wave their arms, overwhelmed by the notes that begin to flow effortlessly from her._

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_Regina's heart is fluttering in her chest. She is moved with ecstasy, addicted to the natural high of the atmosphere of her own concert. Her smile is bright and enthusiastic, but it doesn't quite touch her eyes. The music that she sings is enough to captivate anyone. The love and adoration that they display is enough to warm her heart. But deep within the darkest caverns of her beating organ, Regina knows that there has always been something amiss. Yet, she cannot describe exactly what it is. So, she relishes the applause and loses herself to the mere moment of being onstage, pretending to not have a care in the world. And as she takes that bow, she almost believes it herself._

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_The strobe light is pointed directly at Regina. It's almost angelic, heavenly, how that single beam of light bathes the singer's leather clad form and accents her sparkling jewelry. Slowly, that pure whiteness of the beam intensifies. It grows brighter and brighter to the point where it is almost unbearable, whilst the cheering of the crowd grows softer and softer. Regina forces her eyes to stay open despite the overpowering light. But it is in moments like these when she would wish more than anything to just close her eyes and make it all disappear._

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_The light recedes much faster than it came, leaving behind small dots that dance about Regina's vision as she tries to focus on her new surroundings. It's that telltale click! that immediately sends shivers up her spine. How she hates this part of her job, having to be objectified and posed like a doll in front of that unforgiving camera. But that's all part of it: her fame, her fortune._

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_Regina peers darkly into the camera as it is focused towards her in a way that looks almost menacing. Like the barrel of a gun, the lens is aimed at the brunette as she stares it down in a challenge of sorts, waiting for the shot to be taken. This time, the singer has her body angled sideways, perfectly posed with her arms resting atop her head. Her elaborately coiffed hair hangs down her back, reaching all the way to her waist in large, voluminous waves of chocolate and streaks of red. Rouge lips are parted and eyes are fiercely fixed in that sensual, seductive manner that everyone loves so much._

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_Out of the corner of her eye, she can spot the two prominent figures in her life and career standing idly by, with firm and appraising expressions. From her mother Cora's sharply chiseled features that undoubtedly scream the older woman's need for her daughter's absolute perfection to her husband's inexpressive eyes that scrutinize her body up and down, they who should play a significant role in offering support and words of encouragement do exactly the opposite._

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_"You look beautiful, my dear." The man's voice only adds to the level of unease that Regina has already been feeling throughout this entire session thus far. It is relatively soft, but it turns the singer's stomach in a way that is not necessarily pleasant. Leophold's words are lukewarm, and his eyes are lacking the warmth and affection that should be displayed towards his beautiful wife. But no. In this moment, she is not his wife, the woman he seemingly cares for and loves "for all of eternity". Right now, Regina is his client, his superstar—the very jewel of his prized Phanta Records, which makes Leophold not up to playing the part of her husband, but that of her producer._

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_"It's all really beautiful, Regina," he continues, "But—" There's always a 'but'. "—now I want you to try something more daring, something that'll really capture the fans."_

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_Regina frowns as her husband approaches her, stepping into the space in front of the backdrop. "Leophold," she begins with a sigh and shake of her head, "I really think that we have enough. I don't—"_

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_"Please. Just a few more." The producer continues without regard. His expression is almost threatening, as if he is silently daring her to retaliate in front of this room full of people. He eyes the singer's attire with some sort of level of disdain. There's a critical frown upon his features as he abruptly waves his hand in menial gesture at Regina's trendy motorcycle jacket made of the finest and most expensive leather one could buy. "How about some without the jacket, my dear?" His voice is as thick as molasses, but it's his request that has Regina's breath catching in her throat and her blood running cold._

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_"What?" The brunette breathes, a shiver running up her spine._

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_Leophold lowers his chin, staring directly at Regina with darkened eyes. "You heard what I said," he states in an intensified whisper, with the sole intent to covertly assert his dominance in a way that doesn't reach the ears of others in the room. "Take off the jacket."_

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_Regina tries to hide her horrified expression as she fights to remain in control. Gazing past her husband, the singer attempts to give her mother a pleading look, a silent cry for help. But much to her despair, Cora simply lifts her chin and narrows her eyes._

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_So, Regina doesn't dare argue. She shifts to shrug off the jacket, slowly revealing in full a deep royal purple bra. The singer has her eyes trained on Leophold through the entire endeavor. Almost with a defiant look in her eye, she unceremoniously drops the jacket to the ground by her feet, attempting to hold onto the last bit of poise and dignity she has left. Her lips are pursed, and chin lifted. Eyes remain glued to her husband, even as the assistant scurries in to collect the fallen article of clothing._

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_"Lovely." Leophold compliments with a nod before coldheartedly continuing on to give his last command. "Now the bra."_

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_And Regina's heart drops to her stomach._

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_"Leophold, no."_

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Regina jolts awake, her eyes flying open. As her heart pounds away in her chest, she tries in vain to gain control of herself as the remnants of the dream and all its baggage inevitably seep through the pores of her skin. Her palms are sweaty. Her forehead and neck are damp. There is a wetness beneath her cheek on the pillow. Slowly, Regina raises her head, grimacing when strands of her hair come up sticking to her cheeks. Lifting her hand, she swipes at the sides of her face, pushing her locks back before toppling over onto her back with a loud and harsh exhale.

Control still has not been regained. For no matter how hard Regina tries, she cannot shake the feeling of how her skin prickled and how she felt her bare nipples hardening against that chilling air. The all too familiar sickness that she felt on the day worms its way once more into the pit of Regina's stomach as she lies rigid amidst the sheets, staring with eyes wide into her dimly lit bedroom. Over and over again, she replays the scenes of her dream in her head until she realizes that it's doing nothing but bringing up those painful emotions she has tried so hard to suppress.

But no. She must stop. All of that must remain in the past.

The sound of her alarm clock startles Regina out of her reverie. But it's a solid testament to the fact that she is now in the present, living the life she has now chosen—a life of freedom. Turning her head, the former singer glances at the time. 6:15am. With a sigh and another swipe of her hand down her face, she reaches over herself with some effort to turn off that annoying buzzing noise and start her day.

The shower does well in washing away the night's turmoil. It gives Regina a moment of bliss. She leans back against the shower wall, letting the hot water run down over her face and allowing it to clear her mind, cleanse her soul.

Her reflection has changed since the "glory days." But it's not so much of a difference on the outside as the effect that it has on the inside. After having her hair dyed back to its original color, Regina no longer sports her signature look of scarlet streaks amidst her flowing brunette waves. And never had she known that cutting her locks would produce a crop of unruly ringlets that she would then have to learn how to tame and maintain. Regina stares at herself in the mirror as she scrunches some product into the wild mass of curls. She supposes she looks different, her new hair having given her the appearance of being more laid-back, relaxed, and a bit less sophisticated. It's something that the former singer has come to love very quickly, symbolically equating it to the change of no longer having to really worry about her appearance—no longer having to look picture-perfect all the time with not a single hair out of place. So yes, as much of a perfect disguise as it is on the outside, the simple act of cutting her hair (regardless of how cliché it may be) contributes tremendously towards the changes taking place internally.

Ten minutes later, Regina is dressed, sporting a simple pair of comfortable jeans and black belt adorned with a large silver buckle, along with a black sleeveless t-shirt underneath a navy denim jacket. On her feet, she opts for a pair of brown leather ankle boots. She loves this look, never having had the real chance to show off her own style. Her makeup is light and natural, another welcome change from the layers of foundation, blush, lipstick, and dark smoky eyes that had previously burdened her features.

It's quarter to seven when Regina walks out of her bedroom and makes her way down the hallway towards the next. She enters cautiously, first poking her head through before silently slipping inside.

"Henry," Regina calls softly, her voice just above a whisper as she moves to throw back the curtains and shed some light into her son's dark room.

Somewhere underneath the covers of the bed, there erupts a moan. The lump of sheets shifts but remains steadfast in its position. Regina smiles as she comes to sit at the edge of the bed. She reaches out, her hand tenderly stroking the duvet that is pulled snugly up over her son's form.

"Henry," she tries again in a slightly firmer voice. "It's time to get up. Or you're going to be late for school."

The eight-year-old groans. "I don't wanna go to school."

Regina sighs, shaking her head. "Henry, you have to," she insists as she reaches up and pulls the duvet down to uncover her son's face. A pair of identical brown eyes stare indignantly into hers as he pleads for her to let him stay home just this once. "No honey, I'm sorry. You know how it is. Plus, Mr. Locksley will be missing you."

"No, he won't," Henry argues, "Mr. Locksley doesn't care about me."

"Well now, I highly doubt that," Regina replies, furrowing her brow as the image of a man with gentle blue eyes and silky blonde hair flashes into her mind. There've been only a handful of times she'd seen him. But her brief observations from afar are enough for her to think kindly of him. "Mr. Locksley seems like a very good man, a great teacher." Regina sighs again, glancing down as she rests her hand on top of the covers, above what she assumes to be her son's shin.

"Look, I know the change to this new school and to this new town has still been difficult for you. It's been hard for me too. And I know it feels like it's taking forever for us to adjust, but we'll figure it out together. I promise." Looking up, Regina takes in the surroundings: the red dresser, the rocking chair, and the many boxes of toys all contrasted against blue walls and billowing white curtains. It's all so comfortable, so homey. "We made it here," Regina murmurs, more to herself now, "After everything that happened, after everything we've been through." She can't help but sit and ponder the thought.

But when the former singer glances back towards her son who silently awaits her with a confused expression, she shakes her head and addresses him once more. "So, I need you to try to keep your chin up and stay strong, okay?" Regina pleads softly, "Please? Can you do that for me?"

There's a pregnant pause, a breath of silence, as Regina waits with an expectant look in her eye. It is one that her son has come to know very well. So, it's then after a few seconds when Henry wordlessly throws back the covers and slides himself from bed, prompting his mother to breathe out a sigh of relief and words of encouragement. "That's my boy."

"Daddy, you know you shouldn't be walking around. How many times do I have to tell you that you need to rest?" Regina shakes her head in dismay as Henry Sr. rolls his eyes at his beloved daughter.

"It's just a cold, my dear," the old man huffs, waving a dismissive hand.

Regina shakes her head again. "Yes, but with your immune system, a cold can turn into pneumonia and—really, Daddy?!" The brunette gasps. Her eyes suddenly widen upon glancing at the state of her father's feet on the freezing kitchen floor. "Put some socks on, right now! It's thirty degrees outside."

"Will you relax, Regina? I'm just coming in to quickly grab my tea."

The brunette leans against the counter and crosses her arms, rolling her eyes towards the heavens. "I was going to bring it to you like I do every day, if you would just wait two seconds," she mutters.

"Well maybe today, I'm just the slightest bit more impatient, my darling."

Regina snorts. "I'll say."

She watches as her father shuffles towards the counter to where she had prepared a nice hot cup of Earl Grey, steeped to perfection. After grabbing his mug, the old man then passes behind young Henry's chair to press a quick kiss to the top of the boy's head as he bids, "have a good day." And with that done, he continues his shuffling, past Regina, with a smug look upon his face.

Regina looks to her son who watches his grandfather disappear down the hallway. "Henry, please eat faster," she implores, "We have to get going." And the boy quickly ducks his head back into his plate of eggs and toast.

It's 8:00am on the dot just as Regina's Mercedes pulls up into the parking lot of Storybrooke's local private elementary school. It's very small, having only about three hundred children enrolled in total from kindergarten to eighth grade. But that was all Regina felt her son needed. For instance, the size of the building would reduce the chances of Henry getting lost, especially in those first few months. And with the classes much smaller in quantity than the typical public school, a better education through more intimate one-on-one settings could be ensured. However, the recent troubles that Henry seems to be having is enough for Regina to almost rethink her decision. But, it's not like there really is any other school in this one-horse town. Therefore, she knows she'll have to step in somehow and do something to safeguard her child's happiness.

"Don't forget your lunch," Regina reminds, holding up her son's neon blue Tron lunchbox. She simpers as he takes it from her hands and unceremoniously tucks it beneath his arm. "You be good today," she bids, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before fussing over his hair. "And try to stay out of trouble?" She lifts a brow.

Henry avoids her gaze. "Fine," he mumbles before starting off.

"Hey, hey!" His mother declares as she gently pulls him back by the arm. "No kiss?" She stares expectantly at her son, her brow still arched and with an even wider smirk.

Regina's smile is somewhat infectious as the corners of Henry's mouth lift ever so slightly. He leans up as she bends down and pecks her cheek with a soft kiss. "Thank you," Regina coos, allowing her son to leave this time. He does so without so much as a look in her direction. She watches him with a frown as he trudges through the gates and into the midst of the other children who run wildly about. Is he really that miserable? Regina can't help the sinking feeling in her chest.

"I love you!" She calls on a whim from the other side of the gate. Henry turns around and offers his mother a half-smile whilst giving her a brief wave. Deciding to stay this time and watch the morning's proceedings, Regina digs her bare hands into the pockets of her heavy overcoat and leans against the chain link fence. She's not surprised to see that Henry has picked a quiet spot on the sidelines, his nose now buried into another one of his superhero books.

But it's not too long before the bell is ringing, and all the students grab their backpacks and run to line up single-file in preparation for their mass exodus from the schoolyard. Henry does the same, shutting his book and stuffing it back into his backpack before briskly making his way to where his class stands patiently by the door. It's then that his third-grade teacher is emerging through the glass doors, apparently having been given the job today to escort all the children inside. Regina watches as the man props open the door before turning to address the students. With a wide dimpled smile and bright eyes, he calls them in line by line. As they walk by, he enthusiastically engages with each and every child, always kind and always cheerful. Regina can't help but tilt her head, marveling at how the students respond to him: beaming up at him with bouts of laughter and excitement. It's no doubt that this Mr. Locksley is a favorite. Everything about him seems to breathe this air of warmth and welcome, encased in this natural ability to immediately make everyone fall in love with him. Well, at least, this is according to the many mothers around town.

Aside from that, there is also that superficial aspect of their fascination, of course. The man is good-looking, with a solid but not overly muscular form. His silky blonde hair is just long enough at the front to flop over his forehead in that cute kind of way. He wears some stubble along with a short, clean cut mustache. His blue eyes are gentle and sweet, along with a pair of deeply set dimples that she can view even from this distance. Regina smirks slightly, absolutely certain that all he would need to do is flash those dimples and everyone around him would be at his command. So, he's a charmer, and definitely sports the looks of one. But, it's not enough for Regina to go crazy, right? Not to mention that she doesn't have time to entertain thoughts of ruggedly handsome elementary school teachers.

But it is enough to have the brunette ogle so much that the man in question slowly turns his head and—fuck!—she's caught red-handed. Feeling a warmth slowly creep up the back of her neck and spread over her cheeks, Regina takes her lower lip between her teeth. She wouldn't dare look away, however. That act of cowardice would only add to her appearance of acting like a lovesick schoolgirl, which she is absolutely not. Though, she certainly doesn't want him to get the wrong idea, especially now that he's flashing a small smirk in her direction, making her heart thump against her chest.

"Thought I'd catch you here." A highly accented voice rudely interrupts their moment, if one could even call it that.

Regina sighs, tearing her gaze away from the blue-eyed teacher towards another rather attractive man jogging in her direction. Clothed in a uniform vest and tie, he approaches her with a boyish smile spread wide across his face. Pinned onto his chest, peeking out from behind his heavy leather jacket, Regina can see the sun glinting off a six-pointed star with the word "sheriff" engraved into the metal. He's an innocent soul, one whose looks have attracted the eyes of the town in relatively the same manner that Locksley had, if not even more so. For instance, his curly coffee-colored hair is also long enough to hang over his forehead. But it looks far more disheveled. He sports a thicker beard and mustache. And his build is relatively the same. Though, the sheriff of Storybrooke could be described as a bit more coltish in the way that he carries himself. Some would consider him to be the epitome of a perfect man. However, Regina would regard him as a young twenty-something year old who never really grew out of his teenage awkwardness.

His soft, guileless eyes peer at her as if she's his saving grace. He looks to her with all the admiration one could possibly give. And quite frankly, Regina can't help but feel sorry for him.

"I was wondering if you'd like to grab a cup of coffee," the sheriff is currently propositioning.

Regina blows out a breath. "I don't know, Graham, I'm busy." She looks back towards where Locksley is welcoming the last few students into the school. At the same time, the teacher glances at her again, eyes flitting momentarily between her and the sheriff. With an unreadable expression, and the last of the students filing past, he then makes his way into the school without further delay. Regina sighs again, turning once more to an expectant Graham. "Aren't you on duty right now?" She eyes him up and down suspiciously.

"I start at nine," Graham answers, "So I've time for a cup or two of coffee…maybe a bear claw?" He tilts his head, smirking cutely at the brunette. Like Locksley and his dimples, Graham can just flash those puppy eyes to get whatever he wishes.

"Fine," Regina rolls her eyes, "Just one cup."

Leaving her car in the school parking lot, she decides to brave the chilling breeze and walk the short distance with Graham into the heart of town. They head towards a small bed and breakfast, Granny's, which many of the townsfolk would consider as the central hub of Storybrooke's social life. It's a quaint little area, this small town in Maine. The more Regina has come to know the place, the more she has come to realize just how closely knit the community is. Relying simply on what her father had said, the former singer had some concern that both she and Henry would be regarded as outsiders. However, upon her arrival, every person welcomed her with open arms and warm platters of lasagna and apple pie. It was a nice surprise, one that she had not expected. She had learned later on that it all was due to her father's outward excitement in sharing the news with a few of the citizens. Apparently, word travels quickly around town, which is nothing new to Regina, given her history with the media. But despite everyone's overwhelming kindness and generosity, the former superstar knew she still had to take extra precautions so that nobody would ever discover who she really is, even if it means not only changing her hair, but her name.

"Good morning, Roni! What can I get for you?" Granny cheerfully inquires the moment Regina and Graham enter.

Regina offers the old woman a pleasant smile as she approaches the counter. "Hey, Granny. The usual please. Mochaccino and one of your raspberry scones."

"And I'll have an espresso and a jelly donut," Graham adds stepping up beside her. Regina frowns ever so slightly as she feels the man's hand rest on her lower back. It might just be casual, but one can never be certain. What is clear, however, is that it's a gesture not so subtle as the man probably would have hoped. Because it gets Granny's attention as well. With one brow skeptically raised, the old woman narrows her eyes at the pair from over her small-rimmed glasses.

Shifting uncomfortably, Regina clears her throat and slides herself from Graham's grasp. "I'll go grab us a table," she announces, avoiding his gaze. She starts towards one of the diner's empty booths.

Not long after the brunette takes her seat, Graham joins, setting down the scone on a plate before her. Regina hums in approval before reaching forward with both hands to stuff the sweet treat into her face, enjoying the way it crumbles on her tongue. Like many other newfound freedoms, the ability to eat however she'd like, without worrying about being clean and graceful, is one that she welcomes wholeheartedly.

Across the table, the brunette doesn't realize Graham smirk at her from behind his donut until he speaks. "Hungry?" He teases.

"Mhmm," Regina entertains, lifting a hand to wipe the crumbs off the corner of her mouth. She pushes them past her lips with her finger, letting it linger shortly as she then sucks off the excess raspberry icing. She almost misses the way Graham's eyes slightly darken at her actions. "What?"

The sheriff shakes his head. "Nothing," he replies quickly, ducking his head to take another bite of his pastry. "I was just thinking that maybe you'd like to get dinner sometime."

Regina's lips pop open. "What?" She repeats with a breath. She is briefly saved when Ruby arrives just in time with their cups of coffee. The young server places down their drinks, having evidently heard Graham's proposal, which is clear especially considering her furtive looks between Regina and Graham. It does nothing to ease the tension. But it does allow the former to gather her thoughts. "Graham," Regina begins as Ruby takes her leave, "I thought—"

"I know, I know," Graham interrupts with a shake of his head, looking sheepish, "I just figured we'd be getting tired of Granny's, having the same cups of coffee and pastries. Figured it would be a good change to try someplace nice."

Regina shakes her head. "So you mean 'try someplace nice,' as in an actual date."

Meekly but trying his best to remain nonchalant, the man shrugs. "Well, you don't have to call it that…"

"But that's what you'll see it as."

Graham sighs in defeat. He nods slowly, his wide hopeful eyes making him even cuter, thus even harder to resist. Feeling conflicted, Regina lets out a long breath as she reclines back in her seat, studying the sheriff in silence.

"Look, I know it's taken me a long time to summon up the courage to say it. But I really do like you, Roni. I like your personality, your style, your heart. And I hope you'll give this a chance because I really do want to get to know you better."

At his last statement, Regina can't help but snort. "I don't think that's a good idea," she murmurs.

"Why not?" Graham questions, leaning over the table onto his elbows. He tilts his head at her, letting out a small breathy laugh. "What are you afraid of?"

Regina shrugs, looking to the side for a moment as she crosses her arms over her chest. "Nothing, I just—" She peeks up at Graham, watching him from beneath her lashes as he reads her expression. His grey eyes are wide with so much potential. He does look so beautiful in the natural morning light that filters in through the diner's windows. It seems everything about the sheriff, particularly his looks, can be deemed as irresistible. In truth, Regina should feel lucky to potentially have the chance to snag one of Storybrooke's own heartthrobs and make every woman in the place jealous over a lost opportunity. But is that really what she wants? Lord knows that she has had to endure enough jealousy over the past decade or so to last a lifetime. Shivering internally, Regina thinks back to the way Ruby and Granny looked at her from earlier. Gossip travels fast, and she's not sure if she's ready enough to do anything public, not after the drama she has been through. At least Locksley seems to be somewhat more of a private man. And those who admire him do so in more of a respectful, subtle way, whereas the same have far more to swoon and gossip over Graham. So, at least with Locksley, she can—Regina abruptly halts her thoughts. Since when was Locksley even part of this dilemma? Immediately, the former singer chastises herself. It's not until she hears Graham clear his throat and shift uneasily in his seat that she realizes she still has yet to complete her sentence. "—I just need some time, you know?" Regina sighs, "I guess…time to get used to things."

"I'll be willing to wait," Graham states almost heroically, looking courageous at the thought of taking on the challenge. After all, this doesn't sound like a "no". Bless his tender soul.

Regina bites her lip to tamper down an inevitable smile. Fondly, she shakes her head despite the emotions stirring deep within her chest. She sits up, resting her crossed arms onto the table.

"So, is that a 'yes'?" Graham asks, smiling as well. "It's only dinner. Say, this Friday?"

The brunette slowly nods, breathing out a measured breath from her nose. She lowers her gaze towards her half-eaten scone. Friday. That'll at least give her some time to prepare herself. "Okay," she relents, lifting her head, "We'll say Friday." Instantly, Graham's face lights up and he opens his mouth to respond. "But—" Regina holds up a finger. "—This is just a date. It doesn't guarantee anything more."

Graham nods firmly. "Understood," he replies, looking serious, "No worries."

Feeling somewhat placated, Regina slouches back into her seat.

"You should drink your coffee. It's getting cold," Graham suddenly suggests.

And Regina can't help but laugh at the non-sequitur. "Same with yours."

The sheriff chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Well then, I guess that makes the two of us."

Regina sits on the steps of her porch, slowly watching the smoke unfurl from her lips as she worries a half-smoked cigarette between her right pointer and middle fingers. Leaning forward with her head resting on her free hand, her elbow on her knee, the former singer watches the uneventful happenings of the neighborhood. Mary Margaret and David stroll by with their four-year-old Neal and their Saint Bernard Beethoven, looking very much the epitome of a perfect family. As much as she loves them, Regina can't help but feel envious of their lasting happiness, of the way Mary Margaret and David look at each other, absolutely smitten with one another. She highly doubts the couple had ever had a proper fight. Though, according to their twenty-eight year old daughter Emma (who has become a quick friend of Regina's), there have been a few scuffles here and there. Nevertheless, they're perfect. In every way. Almost too perfect. Regina sighs, lifting the cigarette to her lips and taking another long draw whilst giving Mary Margaret a halfhearted wave. As the couple continues on, she idly wonders what it would be like to have a normal family of her own.

"Regina, you know I don't like it when you do that," a voice behind her gently admonishes.

Regina exhales, more smoke billowing out into the chilly air. "Daddy, you should be in bed."

"I'll be in bed when you stub that thing out," Henry Sr. retorts, waving his hand at the cigarette, "I thought you said you'd quit."

"I am, I just… I really need it today."

Behind Regina, the old man sighs, moving forward to slowly stoop down and sit beside her on the step. The brunette turns her head, raising a brow as she immediately takes in his frail form that's clothed in only his pajamas and bathrobe this cold winter afternoon.

"I worry about you, you know."

Regina furrows her brow. "Why? Because of this?" She holds up her cigarette.

Henry Sr. shakes his head. "No. I mean, yes, that's partly the reason. But no, I do worry about you…in other cases."

"Cases like what?" Regina questions. She shrugs a shoulder. "I'm doing fine, Daddy. Better than fine."

"You don't look it," her father replies boldly, gesturing once more towards her right hand, "Especially when you feel the need to turn to that piece of trash for comfort." Regina rolls her eyes, looking somewhat offended as he shifts towards her on the step to gently pry the cigarette butt from her fingers and stub it out. Silently, the old man then takes her hand in both of his, holding it tightly between them.

"Are you happy, Regina?" Henry Sr. asks, looking deeply into her eyes, "Are you really happy?"

Regina sighs, lowering her gaze towards their connected hands. "You know I am, Daddy." She answers quietly, "The life I was living before, you know that wasn't me."

Her father nods in understanding. "Perhaps not," he agrees. "But there is something missing, isn't there?"

Regina shrugs again. "I don't know," she replies. She shakes her head, shifting her eyes back up to her father's. "I mean, I have you. I have Henry. My life is simpler than it was, but that's all I need. It's far better living a life where I seemed like I wanted for nothing, but in reality, wanted for everything—everything that would come with freedom, the ability to live my life the way that I want."

"And I'm proud of you, my darling," Henry Sr. asserts, "I'm so proud of you for that, for your courage to break away from that superficial life. But now that you've done that, you need to think about what's next for you. And I know you're going to hate me for saying this, but you can't just sit around and take care of me all day, and then Henry when he comes back from school. You need to put yourself out there. Isn't that what cutting your hair, changing your name, moving to this small town was about? To give yourself a chance to reinvent yourself?"

"I know, Daddy, and I am. I'm working on that, you know I am." Regina sighs, telling her father the same thing she'd told Graham. "Just, baby steps. I need some time."

"Yes, my dear, but some time can easily turn into too much time. It's been three years since you've moved from LA. And now, it's a new year. 2019." Her father shakes his head. "I don't want you to end up in the same place you were last time all those years ago, when you thought that you needed time to get used to the spotlight. But before you knew it, too much time had passed." The man visibly shudders at the thought of his little girl becoming trapped in what started out being something so innocent. "I don't want you losing yourself in your attempts at finding yourself. I don't know if I could bear to see you do that the second time."

Feeling tears begin to well up, Regina closes her eyes, trying to prevent any that could escape. "I know, Daddy. I'm sorry."

"Oh, my darling girl," Henry Sr. sighs, reaching out to envelop his daughter into his arms. Regina melts into his embrace as a few tears pool onto his shoulder. "It's okay. It's going to be all right." His hands tenderly stroke up and down her back. "I think you just need someone to be there for you, to guide you. Having your father is nice, but you know my time is limited." Regina squeezes her eyes closed even tighter, her grip on him strengthening as he continues on. "I just want to make sure my little girl is taken care of—is loved."

"I don't know, Daddy," Regina cries softly into his shoulder, "I don't know if I can."

"But I do," her father reassures, "I know you can. You just need to find it in your heart to open up again, no matter what happened in the past." He offers a small sympathetic shrug. "You have to. It's the only way you can move on."


	2. Chapter 2

Click. Click. Click. Regina takes a deep inhale before whistling out a slow breath through her pursed lips. Her eyes feel dry and her back stiff. In front of her, lays open her laptop where she has multiple tabs open on the server. Each are loaded with a number of job listings for possible positions in and around Storybrooke, from waitressing at Granny's, to serving cocktails at the Storybrooke Waterfront (an upscale restaurant perched on the docks of the harbor), to caring for dogs at the local animal shelter. She's been at it for at least two hours. The brunette lets out a disgruntled groan, stretching her arms to the ceiling, before checking the time. 1:30pm. In about a half an hour, Regina will have to pick up Henry from school and she has made absolutely no progress.

It has been quite a long time since the former singer had held a minimum wage job, the last being a buss girl, just before her journey to stardom. Never would she have thought she'd end up in the same place as she was all those years ago: in front of a laptop, searching for any suitable job that would catch her fancy. Yet, unlike last time, it's not like Regina really needs to work. Her earnings from a ten-year career of fame and fortune is enough for her to buy any company if she wanted to, never mind apply.

So, her motivation to embark on this seemingly senseless mission is not driven by the need for money but by her father's incessant nagging to "quit moping around and find something to do." Loathe as Regina is to admit it, the old man is right. She's nearing thirty-three and yet, she's turning into an old housewife—well—that is a housewife without a husband. Regina sighs at the thought, sliding a hand down her face in exasperation. Huffing, she looks to her laptop once more. But a knock on the door startles the former singer as she swivels abruptly in her chair towards the sound.

"Are you ready to go? You're going to be late picking up Henry."

"Daddy, it only takes ten minutes to get there," Regina grumbles in annoyance. With a shake of her head, she turns back to the computer screen. Her hand falls back over the mousepad. She continues to mindlessly click to the following page of results, barely even skimming its contents this time before moving onto the next. And the next. And the next. And the next.

Click, click, click.

"Well, it's one-fifty now," Henry Sr. announces after a moment of wordlessly watching his daughter click away in silence. "So, you'd better get going."

Regina exhales, closing her computer with another shake of her head.

"How's the job search so far?" her father gently inquires as she grabs her coat from the back of her chair and slips it on. He sounds almost sympathetic.

Regina gives an indifferent shrug as she turns towards her mirror to fix her hair. "I don't know," she answers, "It's going, I suppose."

"Anything catch your attention?"

"Not really. I mean, you know me." The brunette turns towards her father as she gestures to herself. "Look at me. Do you really think I'm the type of person who would say, 'Hello! Welcome to Granny's! May I take your order?'" She arches a brow at her father, staring sulkily at him after finishing her little charade.

Henry Sr. laughs until he coughs. "No, dear," he croaks when he recovers. His coughing fit does not stop him one bit as a wide grin spreads across his face, and he teases, "I know the Queen would never stoop so low."

Regina shoots her father a lethal stare before stooping down to put on her boots. "I don't know why you insist on this. You know I'm quite happy spending my days with you. God knows I haven't been able to in the past."

"I know, my darling, and I am grateful for that. But as I've told you time and time again, it's not about me. It's about you. Trust me, getting a job will be good for you. It'll keep your mind busy, get you back out there socializing more with the townsfolk, meeting new people, meeting someone?" Henry Sr. raises his brows, tilting his head as he gives his daughter a hopeful gaze.

The former singer snorts. She rolls her eyes. "Daddy…"

"Regina, I'm serious. I really think you've been far too removed from just—normal people—for far too long, even when you were in the spotlight. You've forgotten what it feels like to find your own identity within a community. You don't need to continue living your life closed off like this." The old man smirks slightly. "You're not famous anymore. You can let go a little."

Regina exhales slowly. Squeezing her eyes shut, she lifts her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Maybe you should apply for a job at Dr. Hopper's office. You're an excellent psychoanalyst."

Henry Sr. chuckles. "So you agree that I'm right."

"I do and I don't," Regina retorts as she takes another look at the time. "And now I'm late, thanks to you, Daddy." She huffs, trying to appear more irritated than she actually is. There aren't many people, however her father is one with whom Regina finds she cannot become so easily vexed, no matter how hard she tries.

"You aren't any later than you usually are."

The brunette snatches her keys from where she'd unceremoniously dropped them on the nightstand. "You are really no help today, are you?" She remarks with a hint of a smile before approaching her father to press a quick peck to his cheek.

"You'll thank me one day, my dear," Henry Sr. simply replies, leaning into the kiss with a smug expression.

"Yes, yes, I know," Regina entertains, halfway amused, as she brushes past her father and begins jogging down the hallway. "Now, get back into bed for the hundredth time," she calls over her shoulder. "And stay there!"

Regina heads swiftly towards the front door, with the sound of Henry Sr.'s laughter echoing from behind.

_They call her the Queen. And that is all. Known for the way she carries herself, for the image she portrays both onstage and off, Regina is able to capture the attention of every single person around her within seconds of simply being there. Her mere presence poses a certain air of regality, to which all would give immediate notice. It is as if she wields some sort of magic. For the moment she steps anywhere, whether that be a press conference, a fan fair, or the red carpet, the atmosphere suddenly changes. And it's with the simple lift of her chin, the silent but profound gaze of her eyes, and the gentle pursing of her lips, that the singer wordlessly commands the respect of all who are lucky enough to be in her presence. She appears striking, dignified, incredibly alluring—very, very regal. The true epitome of royalty._

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_And that's just how Regina likes it._

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_Flaunting her mask is what she is good at. Indulging in that superficial confidence is something she has grown so used to that she had vainly forced herself to believe it all to be true. With her head raised, she strides forward in her signature six-inch stilettos, with a sway of her hips and a flip of her hair, looking ever so much the goddess that mere mortals wouldn't dare cross. But what fans fail to realize is just how distant the singer's eyes appear amidst their glow. They never even think to look close enough to see the true human suffering inside the woman they admire and even try to emulate so much._

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_So they continue calling her that royal monicker, admiring her strength and independence, her ability to give command and not take "no" for an answer. But the truth is that she is, in fact, none of those things they believe her to be—at least in her mind. To Regina, she is just a puppet on a string with absolutely no means of cutting herself loose. Being out amidst the public is in fact her safe haven. If finding what little freedom she has comes at the cost of portraying this enrapturing, beautiful regal character, the singer wholeheartedly embraces it._

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_So, she plays the part of the Queen with that unapologetic attitude, with the full knowledge that neither her mother nor husband would dare publicly critique or question her actions, lest they ruin her image, that in part secures their fortune. So, Regina will sign that autograph, hug that fan, pick up that child, challenge that paparazzi, knowing well that she will be harshly reprimanded behind closed doors. But it is in these moments, outside in the open, that she knows she can at least briefly indulge herself in the freedom and fantasy of doing whatever she damn well pleases._

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_Yet, it's all still a persona that the singer doesn't necessarily fully embrace as her true self. And being the Queen is still something that is expected of her. Regina is still pushed and probed not only by her mother and husband but also by the crowds of adoring fans and cutthroat critics._

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_So, which is worse? The pressure of her "family", or that of the public?_

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"Regina? What are these?"

The former singer frowns as she steps through the door after returning home from yet another mundane task of dropping Henry off at school. She halts in her tracks, finding her father standing right there in the hallway with a giant bouquet of white and red roses in his hand. He pins her with a look of both anticipation and suspicion.

But all Regina can do is stare with her eyes blown wide open at the sight of the abundance of flowers in her view. She doesn't know what to feel—flattered, excited, maybe a little annoyed?

"All this time I was pestering you to get yourself out there and find someone," Henry Sr. muses with a shake of his head, "Anything you want to tell me?" His brow lifts to his hairline.

Regina swallows, shaking her head in disbelief. "Um, no," she stutters, swiping the bouquet from her father's hands as she pushes past him. "It's nothing, really."

"Really?" The old man repeats skeptically. The former singer can practically feel his eyes drill a hole into the back of her head as he follows her into the kitchen. "Darling, a pile of roses does not show up on the front porch for nothing."

Regina chooses not to answer, marching instead towards the cupboard to pull out a vase. Without ceremony and with little comment, she thrusts the flowers into the porcelain and proceeds to fill it up with water.

"Are you seeing someone?" Henry Sr. continues to pry.

Regina feels that all too familiar heat rushing up the back of her neck and over the apples of her cheeks. "Daddy…"

"No, I'm serious! Who's the lucky guy?"

"Dad!" The former singer exclaims. Shutting off the tap, she turns to glare at her father. She holds the vase tightly clasped in her hands as she shakes her head. "It's just Graham."

This time, both eyebrows summit her father's hairline. "The sheriff you've always said had a crush on you?"

Regina nods. "He asked me out, you know, on a date."

"Well, it's about time he quit dancing around you like Bambi and make a proper move."

The brunette breathes a short humorless laugh in reply, setting the vase down onto the island. "I suppose." She gazes at the array. One hand drifts up to one of the flowers, her fingers absently stroking the soft petals. But there's a slight frown decorating her features.

It's something that the Henry Sr., being the loving and attentive father that he is, picks up on very quickly. "You don't seem happy," he observes, tilting his head as he reads his daughter's expression.

Regina shrugs. It is a nice sentiment: the sweet and innocent Graham Humbert coming by to drop off roses on the doorstep of his crush's house before his morning shift at the station. But the former singer has received so many roses in the past. She can't help but feel as though this collection only blends in with the accumulation of the same over a decade of adoring fans of "the Queen" and swooning superficial men. Perhaps that's why she can't help but feel slightly miffed, annoyed maybe at herself, for thinking that Graham would be different.

"I don't know," Regina sighs, "I mean, it is a lot. A bit…overwhelming, actually."

"How come?" Her father inquires, stepping closer to his daughter.

"I don't know. It's just—it's been a while since any man has given me any flowers." It's a lie that is half the truth.

"So, you're overwhelmed because you see it as a bit too large of a gesture."

Regina bobs her head. "Something like that, I suppose," she surmises, dropping her hand. She rounds the island to grab a glass of water. "I mean, Graham is a nice guy, very sweet, very…humble. You know, like he doesn't like to brag. He appears to get all this attention, but he kind of shrugs it off."

"Maybe it's because his eyes are only on you."

"I mean, I know he does like me." Regina sips at her freshly poured glass of water. "I just didn't think he likes me that much."

Henry Sr. chuckles softly. "Well, he did ask you on a date." He pauses as his daughter keeps her gaze down, appearing to have suddenly taken quite a bit of interest in her glass. "Do you like him?"

More silence before Regina shrugs a shoulder, running the pad of her pointer finger around the rim of the cup. Slowly, she begins to reply. "He's only been very kind to me, so I can't not like him. We've met for coffee a few times, you know just casually, and we've had some good conversations. He's very quiet though, and a definite pleaser—which could probably explain the…you know." She waves her hand towards the bountiful bouquet.

Henry Sr. nods. "I suppose he sounds like a good enough man."

At this, the former singer frowns, placing her glass down. "'Good enough'? What on earth do you mean by that?" she chides.

"I mean, he sounds good enough to me as in, you know, a good enough start."

Regina crosses her arms as she now meets his eyes, studying her father for a moment. But the old man innocently blinks at her, his expression only fueling her skepticism. "Why are you being so vague all of a sudden?"

Henry Sr. shrugs. "I'm not being vague. I'm just not keen on expressing my opinion just yet."

"Oh, so you do have a stronger opinion. Why won't you tell me?"

"Because, I want you to go on this date and see what happens."

Regina groans, swiping a hand through her hair as she shuts her eyes. Sometimes, talking to her father can be so incredibly exhausting, however not as much as it would be if he were her mother.

Taking pity on the poor brunette, the old man chuckles as he steps even closer to rub a soothing hand down her back. The manner in which he does it is almost apologetic. "When's the date?" He asks gently.

"Tomorrow…"

"Tomorrow?" He gasps, "You'll have to find something to wear."

"Daddy, I have plenty of things I can wear," Regina protests, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Plus, I have other things I need to worry about, like my own son!"

"Of course, my girl," Henry Sr. acknowledges good-naturedly, "There's no question Henry is your top priority."

"I'm really worried about him," Regina sighs, "I really don't know how much longer I can take watching him drag his feet into the schoolyard every morning. It's like I'm being the bad one, forcing him to go to school."

It seems as if every day, Henry's mood and attitude is growing worse. This morning had been particularly difficult, especially when it came to getting her son up and out the door on time. It had to take some extra coaxing and even more patience for Regina to make Henry find the will to get dressed and eat what little he could of his usual plate of eggs and toast.

It's unlike him to be so sluggish, at least when it comes to food, which only contributes to Regina's ever-growing concern for her little boy. Earlier this morning, while Henry was brushing his teeth, she and her father had been talking in whispers downstairs. Henry Sr. had suggested therapy. However, the idea hadn't sat well with Regina. Throughout her life and career as a singer, Regina's mother had forced her to attend long therapy sessions to deal with whatever "demons" she could possibly have had so that she could do her work and become even more powerful, not to mention richer, with a clear mind. But ironically of course, Cora wouldn't even think that perhaps it was she who could definitely have been the true cause of Regina's anxiety and depression.

To say the least, the therapist was unhelpful. In fact, Regina loathed so much having to sit there and spill out all her inner thoughts and feelings that she refused to speak altogether and wasted hundreds of dollars in sessions by staring down the poor man each and every time, as if he were a piece of meat. So, if Henry is anything like his mother, which he most certainly is, Regina knows that this approach would not help. In fact, she worries it might just make things worse.

"Maybe you should talk to his teacher," her father advises, "Mr.—what's his name?"

"Mr. Locksley," Regina answers, "And you're right, I should. This is the worst it's ever been." She furrows her brow. For some reason, the brunette can't help but feel her heartbeat quicken ever so slightly at the thought of speaking with the blue-eyed schoolteacher.

"And if this Mr. Locksley is anything of the astute teacher that I've heard, surely he would have noticed Henry's behavior and be concerned about it as well," her father adds, "I don't believe a trip to see him would be a bad idea."

Regina sighs, nodding in agreement. "I don't believe so either."

Storybrooke Elementary is the typical public school. But like all the other locations around town, quaint is definitely the best way to describe it. There's the little schoolyard nestled at the very back, in the corner of the building's "L" shape, where Regina drops Henry off every morning. Large healthy-looking trees extend their thick branches up and over the area, creating a sort of canopy under which the children can play. The yard is cement. However, just around the corner and nearer towards the distal portions of the school, there lies a small grassy area with a full jungle gym, swing set, and slide. The exterior of the building reminds Regina of a gingerbread house, with its white trimmings around the windows and the pointed rooftop. Like many old buildings, this one does have character.

When stepping inside, the main office is immediately to the left, where parents may check in with the receptionist through a sliding window. Regina does so briefly before making her way down the long hallway. Her boots thump loudly against the polished tiles as she passes one classroom door at a time. All around her, the brunette takes in the many student-made paintings and murals that have been plastered to the walls for all to see. Cute sceneries of snow-filled forests, snowflakes, and happy-looking snowmen adorn the corridors, very apropos to the current season. Regina can't help but smile at the display of such masterpieces proudly decorating the school. She almost has the mind to take a detour and see if she can find Henry's painting. However, it's then that she arrives at her destination just as she rounds the corner. Room 23.

Wringing her hands together, Regina steps up to the wooden door and peers into the classroom through the glass window. It's a beautiful room, one very different from the others that the brunette had passed. There is a large mural that wraps around its entire expanse. Drawn relatively to scale, illustrations display a scene of vibrant green trees whose trunks extend almost all the way to the ceiling and whose branches spread out over the length of the walls. Amidst those branches perch little blue birds and their nests, whilst down between the trees peek various animals such as deer, rabbits, and even a bear—all drawn in such a way that they appear overly friendly for the young students. Regina smiles slightly as she spies a fox poking its face out from behind another tree by the bookcase, a sly expression drawn onto its face. Hanging from the ceiling fan is a mobile of various species of birds, which only adds to the apparent forest-themed classroom. Other than that, it's like any other classroom. There's a small play area in one corner, a reading nook with comfy looking green beanbag chairs, a section of cubbies for coats and book-bags, and of course the miniature desks that take up most of the space.

The room appears empty, as it should. A day's worth of classes has been finished for a good fifteen-twenty minutes by now. But if Regina angles her head far enough, she can see her target sitting faithfully at his desk, reviewing what could very well be the homework that was freshly handed in today.

Mr. Locksley looks relaxed as he leans back, one foot resting up on his chair. (Regina can tell because his knee is peeking up from behind the desk.) His brow is furrowed as he stares intently down at the students' work through a pair of reading glasses. The very look of him with his dirty-blonde locks falling forward on his forehead and the way he absently rubs his stubble with his fingers is enough to make Regina grow weak at the knees. But it's not long until the brunette is chastising herself once more. Get a grip. That's Henry's teacher we're talking about! The former singer shakes her head. Unclasping her fingers, she splays them out before curling them into fists and repeating the stretching action once more—all in attempts to get a hold of herself. Clearing her throat, Regina establishes her resolve with the lift of her chin and moves to open the door. However, it's just as her fingertips brush the handle that a hand beats her to it. And there's a flash of brown as a small body pushes past her, barging through the door and darting into the classroom.

"Papa, I'm here!" The little boy sings, making a beeline towards his father's desk.

Regina's brows lift as she cautiously steps through the entrance. She stands with her body halfway inside, propping open the door and watching the scene unfold before her.

Mr. Locksley is now swooping up his son in a large bear hug, effectively warming Regina's heart. "Roland, my boy! How was your day?"

The little boy—Roland—bounces excitedly in his father's arms. "Really good!" He replies before abruptly switching the subject. "Can we go to the park now like you said? And also get ice cream?!"

The schoolteacher gives a hearty laugh as he sets Roland back down onto his feet. "Of course, of course!" He exclaims showing all the enthusiasm he has for his little boy. But it's when he lifts his head that his eyes connect straight with that of Regina's silent and watchful gaze.

And his lips pop open.

"Oh, I apologize! I didn't see you there." Mr. Locksley is quick to pardon himself.

Regina shakes her head, stepping further into the room. She cautiously approaches the pair as the door swings shut from behind. "No need for any apology," the brunette replies with a small smile. Her eyes travel down to where the young boy looks curiously up at her, studying her for the first time. "I was hoping that I could have a moment of your time, but it seems like I'm interrupting something?" Regina shifts her gaze back up towards the teacher.

"No, not at all," Locksley insists with a firm shake of his head. He smiles kindly at her before turning to Roland. "Why don't you go and pick a book to bring home?" He prompts him, "I'll be with you in just a few minutes."

Regina watches as the young boy turns to do as his father says, but not without another look in her direction. She chuckles softly when he waddles off, burdened by his Disney's Robin Hood backpack that's just about the size of him. "Cute kid," the brunette comments, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Locksley nods, a proud smile on his face as he follows her gaze to where Roland has begun to browse through his small collection of books. "That he is," he answers, "Though, he can be quite the handful at times."

His words roll off his tongue, deep but gentle—incredibly soothing. Regina had known he was British and spoke with an accent. She has heard it echoing over the schoolyard many mornings. But now, up close and with this distance, it's all the more music to her ears.

"He goes to this school?" Regina assumes, continuing to study the little boy who has picked a book and is now moving to plop himself down onto one of the large beanbag chairs. The sight reminds Regina of Henry when he was younger. And she can't help but look upon Roland with a fond expression.

Locksley nods again. "Kindergarten," he states affirmatively, "But he's very bright for a five-year-old, at least in my opinion."

Regina smirks slightly. "I don't doubt it for a second," she replies as little Roland flips vigorously through his newfound book. It's such a wholesome thing to witness, especially when nowadays, children that age are playing on iPads or smartphones.

After a few moments of silence, Mr. Locksley clears his throat, turning to face a pensive brunette. "As much as I would love to talk about my son all day, I'm assuming that that's not why you came to see me," he prompts.

Regina slides her gaze back towards the schoolteacher, her dark eyes wide as they stare into his. His orbs seem to stretch for miles in depth, fathomless pools of blue. Seeing them this close takes the former singer's breath away as she quickly finds herself lost in his gaze. Without having even a proper conversation, or even an introduction for that matter, it's almost as if Locksley looks at her with profound understanding—completely regardless of the fact that neither knows each other's names. Strangely enough, it feels like they're having a conversation in this moment, but one that's silent and full of inexplicable sentiment.

With a gentle smile, those damned dimples on full display, Mr. Locksley gestures to a chair beside his desk. Regina complies, perching herself on the seat's edge as he moves to sit in his.

"It's about my son Henry," Regina begins, "Every day it's getting harder and harder trying to convince him to go to school. He absolutely dreads it. So I can't help but think that there's something seriously wrong." She shakes her head, the very thought cooling her blood. "I was hoping that maybe you've noticed something that's—I don't know—off about him during the day? You know, just anything that could give me a clue as to what's going on? Henry won't tell me anything."

Regina's eyes are wide and pleading, different from the normal barrier she puts up. But she knows full well that, like any devout mother, her love and ensuring the safety and wellbeing of her son is one of her greatest weaknesses.

Mr. Locksley's brows furrow together as he takes the mother's every word into deep consideration. There's a familiar look in his eye, one that tells Regina that he knows what she's talking about. Hope sparks inside her as his words only confirm that speculation. "I've always known Henry to be a quiet lad, one who likes to keep to himself. I figured that's just his personality, and I'm certain you can attest to that, that he's very shy?"

"Not with the people he knows," Regina utters with a frown, "But I suppose yes, if he's meeting someone for the first time, he might be a bit withdrawn. Though in this case, I would've hoped that the shy phase should've disappeared by now. He's been at this school for at least three years."

"How were the first two?"

The brunette shrugs. "No complaints. He got up, went to school. He'd tell me a little bit about his day when I asked. He was getting good grades. I figured he was fairly content, no real reason to worry."

"Did he have any friends?"

"He is kind of a loner," Regina sighs, "Always has been."

Locksley nods, shifting in his seat. "I can tell. He doesn't seem to make much trouble—just sits by himself reading a comic book of some sort. I try to get him to participate in class or in group activities with other children, but he doesn't really respond. It's almost as if he's indifferent, sometimes even resistant."

"I've been trying to talk to him because I see him all the time outside in the yard before school, just sitting by himself on the curb. It breaks my heart and I just wish I could do more for him, you know? But I can't if I don't know what the hell is going on."

Mr. Locksley's gaze is sympathetic. "I'm no psychologist," the teacher says, "But is there anything that happened in Henry's life perhaps before he transferred here that could possibly lead to some kind of explanation of his behavior now? Or perhaps, if you're comfortable, that I may ask if there's anything going on at home?"

"His home life now is fine. It's stable, it's just…" Regina swallows hard in attempts to steel herself from the emotion that has begun to bubble up from the center of her chest as a result of these questions. It's a dark emotion that stems from the very pit of her heart where her deepest fear, the fear that she hasn't been all that good of a mother, resides. And suddenly it occurs to the former singer that this could very well be her own fault. The grueling environment of fame along with her unforgiving schedule was no place for a child. But that was Henry's life up until he was almost six—being the son of the Queen. A chill runs down Regina's spine as she considers his entire growth trajectory up until this point. Having to be constantly on the move to keep up with her rigorous schedule of press, photoshoots, and tours, Henry was constantly on the move and thus constantly isolated from children his own age. Now more than ever, Regina hates herself for trapping her son in such a way. But it's always the thought that she forgets, which is that she too was the one who was also trapped.

"It's my fault," the brunette reiterates her own thoughts as she briefly glances down at her hands in her lap. Shaking her head, she raises her eyes to meet the compassionate gaze of the schoolteacher beside her. "Just my work. I was always traveling, and it was difficult for me to settle down. And I know that had an effect on my son more than I cared to realize. Really stupid of me…"

Mr. Locksley shakes his head. "That's not stupid at all," he insists, leaning closer towards her. His elbows rest on his knees, hands clasped together. "I'm certain you've done all you could to help your boy, to keep him happy."

"I don't know." Regina shrugs defeatedly. "Let's just say it was a difficult time for both of us."

"I don't mean to pry, but is there a father?"

At his question, the former singer is slowly straightening herself. Taking a deep breath, she lifts her chin again. She will not break over this subject any longer. "No."

"I see."

"But I can manage," Regina adds quickly, "I just want my son to be happy." She smiles slightly, softening up once more. "He's everything to me."

Mr. Locksley smiles, one that melts the brunette's heart. "I don't doubt it for a second." He winks, repeating her line from earlier, prompting Regina to snicker slightly. "I'll watch Henry closer from now on," he then resolves, "and let you know if I can detect any telltale signs, or see any changes in his behavior."

"Thank you," Regina breathes sincerely, rising from her chair. "Thank you so much."

"It's my pleasure." Locksley stands with her, offering his hand to shake.

At the gesture, the former singer's heart once again flutters ever so slightly. After staring at the proffered hand for a second, she grasps it, feeling his warm skin against her palm. The touch of their hands sends a jolt of electricity up Regina's arm. It prickles her skin. But somehow, she doesn't want to let go. So, their hands linger together for a few seconds. And it's as Regina gazes into Mr. Locksley's eyes that she can, in a way, suspect that he too notices the feeling.

"I didn't catch your name." His voice is husky, but oh so soft. His eyes stare deeply into hers once more. "Foolish of me to ask now, after we've been talking for this long."

The former singer chuckles softly, dipping her head as she feels her cheeks begin to flush. She draws back her hand, jamming it into her back pocket. "Re—" Regina halts herself immediately; heart leaping to her throat and blood running cold as all warmth abruptly fades. Curse this schoolteacher, his melodic voice and those impeccable sapphire eyes. Curse him for being every bit the delightful distraction!

"Roni," she is swift to correct herself. Regina clears her throat. "It's Roni."

Locksley nods politely. To her relief, he seems to not have noticed her slip as he simply shoots the brunette another one of his wide dimpled grins. "Call me Robin."


	3. Chapter 3

**October 11, 2008**

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_She draws her shaking hands immediately to her chest, arms crossing over the bare flesh that has begun to prickle. There's a burning in her eyes before Regina shuts them briefly. The vein on her forehead has bulged forth and is now far more prominent. When the singer opens her eyes, she meets the hardened but hungry gaze of her husband—her producer, who has taken a step back to admire her like a trophy on a shelf. The very feeling of his eyes slithering over her topless form in front of everyone in the room only adds to her complete and utter humiliation._

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_Heartlessly, Leophold nods at her as if she'd simply handed him a message from her publicist, not taken off her jacket and bra in the midst of about a dozen people present. Leering at her, the producer tilts his head this way and that as if examining her like one would when deciding whether to buy a certain luxury car. Bitterly, Regina wonders if she passes inspection._

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_The man steps forward once more and Regina can feel the repulsive essence of his cold breath upon her skin. She shivers inwardly as he speaks quietly, his voice hissing like a snake. "You have a beautiful body, my dear. You don't need to be ashamed of it. Show the world what you have."_

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_Regina swallows as he takes a step back. Her eyes having begun to glaze over, she forces down the discomfort, the vulnerability. She will not appear weak in front of them—in front of him. As Leophold returns to his place on the sideline, the singer adjusts her position. If he wants suggestive, she'll give him suggestive. A body is but a vessel. Licking her lips, Regina meticulously uncrosses her arms and slides her palms over her chest. Fingers brushing smooth olive skin, her hands are the only things covering the most intimate parts of her breasts. Delicately, she splays those slender fingers. It's a soft gesture, but one not so innocent. Turning to face the side, the singer throws her hair over her shoulder with a sharp toss of her head. Then as a last step to complete the licentious image, Regina arches her back and parts her lips. She stares salaciously at the camera._

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_She has come to accept her predicament now as the photoshoot continues. Some pictures she uses simply her hands, as in the first, while others she completely crosses her arms over her chest, trying as much as she can to retain what little dignity she has left amidst this now crude environment. There are angles, tilts of the head, short breaths from her lips, all being the same as it would be if she were clothed. Regina knows the people in the room will try to dismiss Leophold's lecherous request as simply business. However, deep down, it's one that rips her to shreds and burns her dignity while everyone watches with fearful and distant gazes._

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_But it's one pair of eyes that gently coaxes the singer out of the shadows. They peer at her from over the camera lens, flickering softly in colors of tender opalescent blue. His eyes speak silent words of encouragement, telling her to be strong, to have hope. Regina loses herself in the safe haven that is this photographer's orbs, pulling what solace she can from him whilst standing in this miserable situation. He is her rock, her love—her only spark amidst her tumultuous world of flashing lights._

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_He is her Daniel._

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Regina can't stop thinking about him—his gentle voice, the look in his eye, the feeling of his palm in hers. It haunts her for the rest of the day and into the next when it really, really shouldn't. Because today is Regina's date with Graham. And she cannot soil it with thoughts of a man whom she knows she couldn't possibly have. Robin—Mr. Locksley—is too kind, too compassionate, too empathetic. He reminds the former singer of someone far too long ago, someone whom she'd rather forget. Yet, Regina cannot help but compare the schoolteacher to Daniel. The very thought strikes both excitement and fear into her chest. She can already feel the pull, the allure. And that's not good. It's far better to stick to Graham, someone at which she can look without losing her resolve completely.

Two o'clock on the dot is when Regina picks Henry up from school, as per usual. Part of her was slightly disappointed when Locksley didn't show up in the school courtyard, as he sometimes would. But, the other half was greatly relieved to instead see Ms. Belle on dismissal duty.

The drive home is quiet. Regina is not exactly sure where Henry is emotionally at the moment. Though, he does appear to be in slightly better spirits today than he was compared to the day before. Perhaps it's simply because it is Friday, thus meaning that the young boy will finally be able to go home and not have to worry about his mother pestering him about homework. Instead, he can read his comics and play his video games. Speaking of which…

"Remember, I don't want you on the Playstation for more than an hour before bed," Regina reminds, glancing at her son from the rearview mirror.

Henry nods. "I won't," he reassures.

"And I want you in bed by eight-thirty."

At this, her son whines. "Can't I stay up for a little longer?" He pleads, "It's Friday."

Regina sighs. "Henry, just because I won't be there at bedtime doesn't mean that you can do whatever you please. You know the rules."

"Yeah, but you always say you can break them if there's a special occasion," the young boy angles.

"What?" The former singer frowns.

A slow, deviant smirk appears across Henry's face. "Your date," he answers as if it's the most obvious thing.

Regina laughs aloud. "Henry," she breathes with a shake of her head, "Darling, that's no special occasion."

"Yes it is," the boy insists, "Grandpa says it IS a big night for you." He tilts his head and raises a brow. It's a perfect imitation of his mother's own scornful look.

Regina rolls her eyes. "Greeeaaat," she drawls sarcastically.

Henry sits straighter in the backseat. His eyes meet his mother's through the mirror once more. "Aren't you excited?" He questions.

"No—I mean—yes!" She groans in annoyance. "I mean, why are you so curious all of a sudden about how I feel?" Regina demands, looking to her son suspiciously, "You didn't seem to react at all when I told you about this last night. This is not news to you."

The boy shrugs a shoulder. "It's just that Grandpa says that you need encouragement," he states, "And I think you do too."

At his bold statements, the former singer's brows lift to her hairline. She shakes her head in disbelief. "Unbelievable," she mutters to herself before addressing her son once again through the rearview mirror. "You think I need encouragement?"

"Yep." Henry nods affirmatively. "You do."

"Why?"

"You just do."

Regina blows out a slow breath. "I am terminating this conversation," she mumbles, concentrating on the road once more. She tries to ignore the implications of Henry's simple phrase, feeling quite unnerved by the idea of her son thinking that she's too timid.

"But what about bedtime?"

The former singer takes a deep inhale. "Nine o'clock," she relents, "No later."

Regina smirks slightly when she hears Henry's silent "yes!" in the background. And the mood is light for the rest of the ride home.

"He asked you out on a date? Why the fuck didn't you tell me this earlier?!"

Regina sighs aloud. Shifting her phone from one ear to the other, she balances it precariously on her shoulder as she continues to scrub at this morning's dirty dishes. "I don't know, Emma. I have other things I need to worry about."

"I know, I know," says her best friend from the other end, "But you can afford to worry about yourself even for a little bit. I mean, this is a big deal."

"You're starting to sound like my father…and my son apparently," the former singer mutters, rolling her eyes as she shuts off the tap. She grabs a dishtowel. "It's just a date," she states matter-of-factly whilst drying off her hands. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Yeah, but you have to realize that this is the first real date you're going since what? Before Leophold?"

Regina visibly shudders at the mentioning of her former producer and ex-husband. "Do we really have to go there?"

"No, of course not. I'm just saying that it seems like you're finally opening yourself up to the possibility of loving someone again," comes Emma's diplomatic response. "I'm proud of you."

The former singer can't help the small smile that tugs at the corners of her lips. "Let's just see how it goes first before you decide to jump up and down. God, you can be so much like your mother sometimes."

"Yeah, yeah, sure." The blonde laughs. "So, do you know what you're going to wear?"

"I don't know." Regina shrugs. "I suppose just a nice pair of jeans, a top, and my favorite embroidered leather jacket—you know—the one with the purple flowers on it?"

The minute Emma groans, she pictures the eye roll that goes along with it. "Regina, that's like what you wear every day."

"So?"

"So, I'm saying that you should be a little more adventurous. It's a date. Dress up a little."

"Emma…"

"At least wear a dress or something sexy. And then you can thank me later after you get laid."

"Emma!" Regina exclaims as her heart jolts in her chest. "That's way over the line."

"No, it's not. It's regular girl talk. You're just being melodramatic as always."

Regina lets out a long sigh, combing her fingers through her curls in exasperation.

"Listen," her best friend states, "I'm just saying that it's not a bad thing to show off a little. It all comes with opening yourself up, right? So, I think you can find the courage to throw a little more makeup on—you know, your smoky eyeshadow thing? There's no way you could've forgotten how to do it."

"Emma…" Regina leans her head back against the couch cushion. She pinches the bridge of her nose while squeezing her eyes tight, feeling overwhelmed. "I'm not going to turn back to the woman I was before, just to impress Graham. I want to move forward, not backward. And if he doesn't like that, then that's his problem."

There's a long silence on the other end of the line as Emma takes in the former singer's words. Even through her slight annoyance at the blonde's comments, Regina knows she means well. Emma had been the first person to actually introduce herself the day Regina and Henry had moved in. The brunette remembers the way the young woman sauntered up the long driveway of her father's house, long blonde waves bouncing over the shoulders of her red leather jacket. She had a sort of smirk on her lips and a knowing glint in her eye that almost made the former singer's heart stop in fear that the blonde knew who she was.

Well, it turned out that Emma did, to some extent, when she declared that Regina wasn't very much of a good liar and that something "just didn't smell right." And as one could imagine, the revelation had the former singer twisted into a ball of nerves, rendering her terrified that her secret would be exposed and that she'd be thrusted back into the spotlight she'd worked so hard to avoid.

But it was, in fact, Emma who reassured her that she wouldn't tell anyone. And upon sensing her sincerity, Regina was somewhat comforted. Over the next couple of months, the former singer's trust had grown to the point that she slowly gained the strength to tell the blonde her story in full. So, it was during one warm summer night on the porch, after a few glasses of wine, that Regina finally poured her heart out to the blonde.

Loathe as she was to spill all her secrets and recount the darkness in her past, Regina somehow felt a weight lift from her shoulders that night. It felt good to finally let it all out in the open. Amidst all the prying questions of gossipy townsfolk, being able to not hold back what she had been keeping to herself for so long felt like such a relief, as if the former singer was taking a deep breath of air after having been stuck in a cave. As for Emma, she just listened and was that caring and compassionate friend that a younger Regina could only dream of.

"You're right, Regina, and I'm sorry. I got overexcited," her best friend is now saying, "I just want this to work out for you so badly. You've worked so hard, I want you to be happy."

Regina smiles slightly. "I know, Emma. And thank you. But I need to take this at my own pace. It's been a long time."

"Absolutely. I only want you to know that whatever happens with this, I'll support you."

"Thanks." The former singer nods as she looks over at the time. "I have to go get ready."

"You better tell me everything."

"I will, I promise." With a large exhale, Regina is cutting the call and releasing her head back down onto the cushion. It takes all of her mental effort to leave the comfort of her sprawled position on the sofa.

"You look beautiful, Regina," Henry Sr. coos from behind as the former singer stands at the mirror. She twists right and left, scrutinizing her appearance of the exact outfit that Emma wasn't so keen on approving. It's good enough, though, as she would hope that all this time Graham would be concerned less about her appearance and more so about her personality. However, Regina does have a little more makeup on than usual.

"Thank you, Daddy."

"Graham should know how lucky he is to have a chance with you."

Regina snorts in reply. But it's then that her expression grows serious. "Daddy, I know you've been talking to Henry about Graham and I. Why?"

"Because he's your son and he should know."

"But isn't it a bit too early?" Regina frowns at his reflection in the mirror. "Just because we have gone for coffee a few times doesn't mean anything. Plus, I have no idea what could happen tonight. This could be something totally different. I just don't want him to get excited, or anxious, or whatever he could possibly feel from any outcome of this type of thing."

"Or maybe you're holding back from telling him because you are unsure about the outcome of this whole thing. I feel like if you were confident that you and Graham had something, you'd tell him." The old man tilts his head appraisingly at her.

The former singer bristles at her father's words. "No," she refutes adamantly, "I just don't need him stressing over something that could just turn out to be nothing, especially not when he's dealing with school. You're really reading way too much into things."

"As a father who is worried about you should," the old man defends. "I'm just saying that the boy knows a lot more than you think he does."

"Daddy, I know my own son. This is to protect him!"

Henry Sr. sighs. Reaching out, he turns Regina around to face him, taking her hands firmly in his. "I know you want to protect him, Regina, but you need to let him into your life. Trust works both ways. I know you want him to trust that he can come to you if anything is ever bothering him. So in turn, you need to show him that you can reciprocate as well. I'm not saying tell him everything. Just say what's appropriate for an eight-year-old to know, and then maybe he'll open up—he'll feel important knowing that you're telling him these things. Maybe part of the problem is that he's feeling left out."

The former singer shakes her head before loosening her hands from her father and turning back towards the mirror. "I just want him to feel secure." She angles her head, fastening a silver hoop earring. "I'd hate for him to get his hopes up that…"

"But what if that's what he needs?" The old man persists, "Hope. A little hope can go a long way."

All Regina has ever wanted was for Henry to have a stable father figure in his life. As she looks into her own father's tender gaze, she can't help but feel her heart clench painfully at the fact that Henry doesn't even have the chance at the bond between him and his father as she does with hers. The image of Robin and his son briefly flashes in her mind. It hurts her to think that she's partly to blame for the fact that Henry did not and may never grow up with a father as kind and as loving as Locksley. "But what if I'm wrong?"

"Then you're wrong. You cry, pick yourself back up, and keep on searching. Do it for Henry. You can't let the fear of putting yourself out there stop you from trying. You never know. That's the excitement of it all." Henry Sr. smiles warmly.

Regina nods in agreement, exhaling out a more confident breath. It is slightly embarrassing having to receive this sort of pep talk from her father as if she's a shy, innocent teenager. But it gives her the courage that she needs. After all, it reminds her that she has been through worse.

"Okay," the former singer announces, tossing her curls with a flourish. "What do you think? Am I missing anything?" She holds her arms out to the side, smirking at her father.

Henry Sr.'s smile is watery. "No. You are perfect, my darling girl. Do you have everything you need?"

The brunette bobs her head. "I should," she replies, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Please make sure Henry is in bed by nine. I'm not letting him stay up any later than that."

"Do not concern yourself at all about that, my dear." Her father nods affirmatively. "It will all be taken care of."

"Good." Regina marches towards her father, lightly pecking his cheek with a kiss. "And don't even try to wait up."

The old man chuckles. "I can't promise you on that one."

The former singer shoots him a look. With a shake of her head, she glances at her cellphone just as it buzzes with a new text. "Well, he's here," she murmurs, plucking her overcoat from the back of the door before stepping out into the hallway. "Wish me luck."

Henry Sr. grins. "Best of luck," he bids, "Have a wonderful time, my girl."

Graham's smile is sheepish as he greets her at the door. Regina is quick to appraise the young sheriff with long looks over his jeans, plain gray t-shirt, and navy blue blazer. His hair is somewhat tamer, swept back and out of his face. His stubble is neatly trimmed, looking every bit the GQ model.

"Wow," the former singer breathes, her brows raised as she meets his expectant gaze.

The man shakes his head, lifting a hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. "Is it too much?" He asks, almost as if he's apologizing.

Regina shakes her head. "No, no," she reassures, stepping out onto the porch beside him. She shuts the door behind, swiftly locking it. "You look…" Turning back towards Graham, she eyes him up and down again. "…good. You look good." Regina offers him a small smile.

Graham breathes out a sigh of relief. "That's good," he answers as they start to head towards his awaiting Chevy. "I thought I'd, you know, go the extra mile for tonight." It's when they reach his truck, parked along the curb, that suddenly he's whipping out a familiar bouquet of roses from behind his back.

"Oh!" Regina can't help but exclaim as she lays eyes on the red bunch that's thrusted towards her in the manner of a child wanting to show off his beloved piece of artwork. "And you brought more roses."

Graham shrugs a shoulder, turning sheepish once again. "Figured you can never go wrong with roses."

Regina forces another smile as she takes the bouquet, breathing out a short laugh as disappointment settles once more in her gut. "I love them." She can't help but reply with a hint of insincerity in her tone. "Thank you."

As Graham opens the passenger door and Regina slips in, the former singer chastises herself for being so picky, for setting such incredibly high expectations. It really isn't fair to Graham. But the brunette cannot seem to tamper that niggling feeling of disappointment in the fact that the more she finds herself thrusted into being romantically invested in him, the more she has come to realize that he's just like all the others.

"So," Regina says as Graham puts the key into the ignition and pulls out into the road. "Where are we headed?"

"Bella Notte," the sheriff answers with another shrug of a shoulder in his continued attempts to remain cool and nonchalant.

Regina's brows lift. "That little Italian place a little ways down from Granny's that hardly gets any business?"

Graham nods. "I figured we could park at the diner and then walk down since there's not much space for the truck in that small lot." He eyes Regina in his periphery, offering a crooked smirk. "Don't worry. It may look a bit run down, but the food there is amazing."

"Mm." Regina sports somewhat of a skeptical look in her eye. "I suppose I'm intrigued."

At her reply, Graham is laughing. "Honestly, you can never go wrong with Italian food."

"Well, I'd beg to differ. But if this place does lasagna better than me, we're gonna have an issue."

The sheriff lifts a brow, continuing to study her. Up ahead, Granny's bright neon sign slides into view as they round the corner onto Main Street. "So I take it you like to cook?"

"Yup, I try to as much as possible," Regina answers with a firm nod, "And I suppose I do have my specialties."

In truth, the former singer had only learned how to cook just three or four years ago, around the time when she'd left her life of glitz and glam behind. Before, she need not lift a finger to require a proper meal to be placed in front of her. Most wouldn't think twice of having the opportunity to indulge themselves in the luxury of having a private chef. However, for Regina, she would spend much of what little free time she had staring wistfully at various cooking shows on her television, in the confined space of her trailer. Forced to sit back and be served like the Queen she was told to be, Regina longed to engage in the hard work required to put together a fine meal of her own. How she yearned to feel that wholesome sense of accomplishment of eating something that she herself had worked so hard, with her own two hands, to prepare.

Thus, when she moved to Storybrooke, one of the first things Regina did was buy every cookbook she could possibly get her hands on in order to throw herself into learning how to prepare every dish she'd coveted on those damned television shows—starting with lasagna. And when the former singer had exhausted herself with that, she turned her sights towards baking, only then discovering the perfect recipe for her all-time favorite apple turnovers.

"Mm," Graham hums appreciatively, pulling into an empty space in front of Granny's. He kills the engine before shooting a quick glance at Regina, his eyes filled to the brim with boyish excitement. "Well then, perhaps I can try one someday."

The brunette smiles sweetly at his eagerness, his apparent interest having caused a bit of a spike of fondness for the sheriff. "Perhaps," she coyly responds, wiggling an eyebrow before sliding from the passenger seat.

The wind has started to pick up, whipping Regina's hair around her cheeks. She can smell a storm in the air, immediately grimacing at the thought of the impending rain matting the curls that she'd prior fought against.

Graham slides beside her, casually sidling up to her right and slipping an arm around her waist. Regina is pulled flush against him as he cuddles her to his side as they begin to walk. The former singer isn't sure what to think about it, simply chalking it up to being the drop in temperature due to said wind.

Granny's sign bathes the couple in neon orange and green. Regina, lost in the dubious feeling of the sheriff's arm around her, almost misses the jingling of the bell as the diner door swings open and slams shut. She and Graham have to stop abruptly to avoid a very sudden collision with a blur of green and blonde.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" That familiar accent is unmistakable.

The former singer's head snaps up, eyes immediately finding that same pair of endless blue orbs. "Mr. Locksley," Regina breathes. Without thought, and perhaps awareness, she shifts from Graham's arms, only to have the sheriff's grip to remain steadfast. "I, um, I'm surprised to see you."

"Well, it is a small town and therefore not many places for a delicious grilled cheese sandwich," the teacher laughs, holding up a large brown paper bag.

Regina can't help but smirk widely. "For Roland?" She surmises.

Robin nods, grinning. "The boy loves his grilled cheese."

"So does mine," Regina agrees with a chuckle. It's then that Graham clears his throat, blatantly making his continued presence known. The brunette's cheeks immediately flush.

"Robin," Graham greets curtly, offering a stoic smile. "Pleasure to see you."

The teacher tilts his head. "And you as well," he replies before again glancing at Regina, as if he's not able to take his eyes off her. The action continues to render the former singer as pink as a rose. Though again, she blames that conveniently chilly wind. "Well, I'd best be going. I've a very hungry boy waiting at home."

"Well, we'd hate to keep him hungry any longer." Regina smiles. "Give him my best."

"And mine to your son as well," the man replies before turning to Graham, a knowing sparkle in his eye. "Take care of her," he bids to the sheriff.

Regina's heart jolts. It's perhaps an inappropriate thing to say. However, the very sentence has the brunette weak at the knees, pining for a man she most certainly should not be pining for.

Graham's grip on her tightens. "Yes, of course."

Robin turns once more to Regina, offering another one of his tender smiles. "I'll see you around."

"Mr. Locksley," Regina bids. But the man simply breathes a gentle laugh, shaking his head at such a formality. He turns to cross the street, making his way towards the opposite side without another word.

Beside the brunette, Graham gives an indignant snort. "Is he for real?" He mutters, looking quite offended as he shakes his head.

Regina sighs, avoiding the sheriff's possessive, prying gaze. "Let's just go," the former singer murmurs. Absolutely red in the face, she herself steers the man away from the scene and back into the direction of that damned diner, wanting nothing more than to have the ground swallow her whole.


End file.
